At least not in this household.
A couple of weeks ago, Mrs Jude was vacuuming and I was rearranging and cleaning the room I was setting up for my b&w film developing. She was on a break when I decided to vacuum my room. I should have known better to touch that big purple and gray thing.
First thing was I couldn't find the button to turn the friggin thing on then I couldn't find how to tilt it from the upright position. After pressing (hitting?) various buttons, knobs and other things with my fingers or feet I ended up with three odd looking parts of the vacuum on the floor. A-OH. I shouted for Mrs Jude to help me and well, I don't want to go there again with how she responded. A major butch fail on an activity that normally a very knowledgeable femme completes.
Then some minor plumbing replacement needed to be done so Mrs Jude took it upon herself to take care of it. I should have seen those warning signs but hey, how much can you fuck up replacing a toilet seat? Three trips to homo depot and two returns later, that's how much. Funny thing is too, every time she came home with a newer seat, it cost more than the one she had just returned.
Sunday's challenge was putting the new charcoal grill together. Fourteen steps and about a leisurely hour later it was done. She watched and I screwed. We know our places and we're both all right with staying in them too.
12 hours ago